Let me put my poems in you.: Our first blog.

Hello one and all, and welcome to LSRAnthology's first ever blog. I can feel your excitement from here.

Firstly, I suppose, I should plug who we are and what we do.

We are LSRAnthology, the poetry show on Leeds' award winning student radio show, LSRfm, which you can listen to here-

And I strongly recommend you do, fantastic station. And I'm not just saying that.

You can also follow us on facebook, here:http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=142909959196&ref=ts

And on twitter, here: http://twitter.com/LSRAnthology

LSRAnthology is the aural section of theScribe, Leeds University's very own creative writing magazine. (Incidentally, copies of our latest publication 'Myth' are available now, get in contact for details. Please. )

So, there we are, theScribe, coming live in your ears every Sunday afternoon from 2-2.30.

Last weekend the show was a little bit different, as we were given an hour long show instead of our usual half hour, giving us much more time for our (usually condensed) deranged ramblings.

So, armed with twice our usual time, Humphrey, Sam, Chris and myself (Jake, if anyone's interested), set off for the studio. After a brief interlude and a sausage sarnie in Old Bar, we arrived, ready to fill our listeners with poetry.

Due to an unfortunate technical error (me not having any CD-Rs), I was unable to play the recording I wanted, so, for those of you who have made it this far, here is Polarbear with his poem, Jessica:

I absolutely love this poem, his delivery is impeccable and he's a fantastic storyteller. If you want to know more about him, read to the end of the blog.

Next up Chris read us a poem from the late great Spike Milligan, which can be found here:

http://www.spikemilligan.co.uk/spike-milligan-poem-text.php?poem=Have-A-Nice-Day

Another fantastic poem.

This was followed by Sam's review of Yeats (the poet, not the pub..), and the introduction of his newest literary study- Chins of the Irish poets (a PhD if every I heard one), the findings of which are summarised in the table below:

Good chin.

Oscar Wilde

Seamus Heaney

Bad chin.

W.B. Yeats

James Joyce

Proving almost conclusively that there is no correlation between a strong chin and the ability of poets to write. So, there you have it. If you have a chin, or not, you should write poetry.

Also, less importantly, of course, the poem can be found here:

http://www.online-literature.com/yeats/816/ a really beautiful poem.

Then, BAM, liker a bolt from the blue, we were hit by the mighty philosophies of Chris Marr's Cultural Review (jingle in progress).

We discussed the Oxford Professor of Poetry position, which is still unfilled after Ruth Padel resigned following her admission of passing information to the media concerning sexual harassment claims concerning her opponent, Derek Walcott. Naughty naughty.

The unfilled position has lead to Oxford University changing the rules surrounding the election of the Professor. Previously, Oxford graduates could only vote in person, at the University, on one specific day. Now, however, graduates can vote on-line over a large period of time. So, if any of you happen to be Oxford graduates, or are identity thieves with access to Oxford graduates, and have a vote going spare, I hear this Jake Holdsworth chap is fantastic.

Let me put my poems in you.

Yes ladies and gentlemen, here it is. The feature for which this blog is named, the time has come to put our poems in you. Because at LSRAnthology, the listener always comes first. Or reader, in this case.

Humphrey, the generous man he is, gave us not one, not two, but three poems this week.

He read two poems by John Betjeman:

A Subaltern's Love Song, which can be found here- http://www.poetryarchive.org/poetryarchive/singlePoem.do?poemId=1537

and

Meditation on the A30, which can be found here- http://www.poetryconnection.net/poets/John_Betjeman/16972

Both of which were read beautifully, and instantly propelled Humphrey to the status of 'Master Reader', and prompted a fan club to appear.

He also wrote a scathing poem attacking an anonymous figure, which I unfortunately do not have access to at the moment. As soon as I acquire it, though, I will update.

Got it!

He sits at his desk, stares through his pc
Wearing baggy clothing of navy blue serge
We ask him politely, how to use the CD
As radio's tricky, and it's our first time.

He could have been helpful, polite, give a grin,
But he sarcaly dismissed us, said 'just put it in'.
Ah! What hope for humanity can there be
With radio rooms full of chaps like these.

Fantastic. For safety reasons, the subject will remain anonymous.

Chris, too, had a poem to put in us, and he did, wholeheartedly and with much gusto.

Flightless bird

Flightless bird paces clumsily
From nest to stream.
Leaning suddenly and leaning back
She stumbles, heavy on her tiny feet.

Water could mean death –
A helpless struggle through its depths.
But she must dip her beak.
Cold water’s life-blood warming.

She waddles home to young,
The sacred of the species.
They have wings and sharpened feet
That taunt, like hers; misguided purpose.

These are not predators,
These are Darwin’s rejects.
Flapping futile she nearly falls;
Balance needs to be restored.

A poem inspired, believe it or not, by the video shown below:

Truly one of the funniest things I have seen in a long time.

I too had some offerings to fill your ears with.

My open letter to Simon Cowell:

Dear Simon,

Firstly, congratulations on your Christmas victory!
And, I know, technically, your puppet didn't get to number one,
But you and I both know that it didn't spoil your fun,
You made all the money you would've, and then some.

(I'd like to take this opportunity to emphatically state
That I have nothing against the contestants on the X-factor,
They're just the same as the next actor or singer
Who'd do anything to get famous
And shamelessly wh#re themselves out.
And to be honest, given half a chance,
If I could sing or dance
Or perform native American chants backwards whilst juggling cats,
I'd sign my soul over.)

But my quarrel lies with the culture you've created,
Where a songwriter gets shunned
For a dumbed-down
Auto-tuned
Uninspiring
Marionette
Styled by liars and posers
Chosen over anyone with any substance.

Secondly, though, I'd like to examine some facts,
Like the money you spend on botox
And getting your hands waxed.
(I mean, seriously, who does that?
That's beyond absurd,
And never before has someone so aptly
Polished the proverbial turd)
I read somewhere that you spend £24,000 a year
On cosmetic enhancement.
That's probably an exaggeration,
And media hysteria is at an all time high
But still, by no stretch of the imagination
Could I spend half that on cosmetics,
Frankly, it's pathetic.

If even half of what I've read is true,
Then if you gave up
Your self-obsessed quest
To be an object of desire
(And to be honest I've seen prettier things on a spit over a fire)
Then you could give over
A thousand people safe water
Or train 320 teachers.
But I don't want to be one of those people
Who preaches doom and gloom at you
But you can't deny
A better use of your time
Would be putting your excessive wealth
Into improving the health
Of so many people.
£10,000 could train
322 health workers
Or buy 909 chickens
Or raise Charles Dickens from the grave.
Okay, so that wouldn't have much benefit on a global scale
But I thought my tale
Of hypothetical justice
Would catch your eye more
If it rhymed...

If you take nothing else from my rhyme,
Take just this:
Do whatever the f##k you want to the music scene
Because as long as we have songs in our mouths
And tunes in our heads
You ain't got s##t on us.

But you've got so much power in your hairless, clammy hands
Yet you just stand in front of a brainwashed nation
And with a safe conscience
Spend fifty-seven times as much
As an average Zimbabwean makes in a year
On chestal epilation.

So, that's that.

I also premièred a rough little thing, which will hopefully one day become a play of some sort... It has no name, but here it is:

Act one, scene one.

Lights up.

Remnants of a fight and a cup of coffee cooling on the table.

We see a boy, side on

Eyes wide

His clothes hide bruises and cuts.

He chooses to keep his mouth shut and stare.

We become aware of another boy.

Older. Shown to be bolder

By his decision to speak first,

And although breaking the peace hurts

He presses on.

‘You alright buddy?’

A smile twitches in the corner of his bloody mouth

Which itches to give up

And scream and shout at the boy who stands before him.

He adores him.

Like brothers always do.

But when mothers always choose to leave

And fathers choose to only breathe

Thick white smoke

And it takes over the lives of their kids

Then how’s he supposed to forgive

Everyone and everything that apparently made him

What he is?

The younger boy stays still.

His barely controlled breathing fills the stage.

Still ragged from his beating.

His mind feels like a furnace

Heating every unspilled emotion

Every unreturned devotion

And sets in motion terrible ideas.

Deep breath in.

He clears his mind of them,.

Puts them at the back of his head

Until he finds time with paper and a pen.

‘I’m sorry’ he forces out.

His brother’s slow response causes doubt in his mind.

Will it really be okay this time?

‘That’s fine.

Don’t worry.

It’ll be okay

And hey, I’m sorry too.’

His brother smiles.

Places a hand on his shoulder

But his touch is colder now.

More detached.

And his scratched knuckles

Which used to protect him

Make him flinch.

Hopefully there will be more of that soon, but we shall see...

So, those were our poems. Hopefully we have left you satisfied and not lying curled in the foetal position feeling empty, used and sullied.

So, the blog isdrawing to a close, which is a shame, I've enjoyed it. Before I go though, some events which you should attend, some videos you should watch and some links you should visit.

Events!

Dan le Sac vs. Scroobius Pip will be playing at Leeds Cockpit on the 18th March, definitely worth a gander, I'll be there :)

http://www.myspace.com/lesacvspip

Polarbear is performing a spoken word screen play at the Battersea Arts Centre from the 2-25th March, definitely not to be missed, details here:

http://www.bac.org.uk/whats-on/return/

http://www.myspace.com/polarbearspoken

http://www.homeofpolar.com/bear-dates/

Tomorrow, in the school of English, Leeds University, an evening of Literature in the face of massive losses:

http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=321106647732

Wednesday, 03 March, Riley Smith Hall, Leeds University Union. An evening of music, poetry, theatre, comedy and more creative arts than you could shake a stick at:

http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=312066494722

Monday, 15th March, Packhorse Pub, Leeds. A gig, featuring Al Baker(acoustic folk punk as played on last week's show!), The Ruby Kid (indie-rap-poetry), Ben Childs (founder of Sonic Boom Six, acoustic-folk-loveliness), Elijah At Sea (a new folk band, featuring LSRAnthology's very own Humphrey, Chris and Jake.(Yes, these are self serving parenthesis)) as well as poetry from members of the Scribe and the world in general:

http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=320451282072

Links!

For more of Jake's poetry:

www.myspace.com/elliotdanielpoet

http://oh-youprettythings.deviantart.com/

For more of Humphrey's poetry:

http://poet-in-progress.deviantart.com/

For theScribe:

http://scribemag.co.uk/

http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=2249623206&ref=ts

For poetry happenings in and around Leeds:

http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=281397778566&ref=ts